


A Lost Art Remembered

by ATTHS_TWICE



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s11e04 The Lost Art Of Forehead Sweat, F/M, Post-Episode: s11e03 Plus One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 12:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15995459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATTHS_TWICE/pseuds/ATTHS_TWICE
Summary: The ending of TLAOFS is way too sexually charged for something to NOT happpen. The way they look at each other, wanting to remember how it all was.. something definitely happened. Here is my take on it...





	A Lost Art Remembered

They sat and stared at each other, the Bigfoot Goop-O mold still wobbling, each of them thinking of the past, the way it all was. Millions of memories and no Reggie. He was never there, she was sure of it.

She looked at Mulder’s lips, thinking of them on her own, and on her body years ago and again just recently. She wanted to kiss him now, but she stopped herself. They were still in limbo with _them_ and she felt unsure how to move forward.

“I ... I should get going,” she said quietly, unlocking her fingers and running her hands on her thighs.

He held his gaze on her, his brow furrowing slightly. She watched him swallow then he cleared his throat.

“You could stay, if you’d like ...” he said, low and quietly.

His voice made her pause. She was always affected by his voice when he spoke that way. Add to that the fact they were slowly beginning to come back to each other, it was a deadly combination.

The memories of the sex they had in their motel suite and then once after their date later that same night, was still fresh in her mind. It had been a few weeks, but it was still there, front and center.

The past few days had been ... interesting, if nothing else. It had brought up past memories and created some pretty flirty stakeouts. It had been really fun, even if it was confusing. Like old times, really.

They still had not spoken of the future, and they desperately needed to have that discussion. Serious conversations were not their strong suit though, not when it came to _them_. If she stayed, the only talking that would occur would be, “how fast can you get these pants off me?” Not exactly the kind of talking she meant.

Although … sometimes that was how they needed to move forward. Sex, then talking. They had always been better at non verbal actions. Maybe that was what they needed now.

It could work. But it felt like a bandaid covering an open vein. It would work for awhile, distract them, make them laugh, but it did not fix the problem.

No. Getting up and getting out, that was what she needed to do. Needed maybe, but it was definitely not what she wanted. Why was everything so hard when it came to matters of the heart with them?

She stood up abruptly and shook her head. “No, Mulder. I ... I should get going. It’s getting late.”

She heard him sigh as she stepped toward the door. She grabbed her jacket, keys, gun, and wallet. She reached for the doorknob and she heard him behind her. Close but not too close. Letting his presence be known, but saying nothing.

She froze with her hand on the doorknob. She really did not want to go back to that lonely house. It lacked the warmth and memories of this little unremarkable house. The love, arguments, laughter and tears that happened here, they were what made it their home.

“Ask me again,” she said, barely above a whisper. She knew once he asked, she would not be walking out the door

She heard his movements cease and they both stood, not facing each other, making a decision.

Five seconds and she heard his whisper.

“Stay. Please.”

She was in his arms, all her items on the floor, her mouth locked with his, in lightning speed. His hands on her ass as she dug her nails in his neck. He walked them toward the stairs and she tripped backwards, her ankle hitting the bottom step.

He grabbed at the railing and kept a hand on her waist. They slid and fell onto the stairs, her legs wrapping around him, never breaking their kiss. His hand at her waist went to her head as they landed and she almost cried at the quickness and care he showed. God, she missed him so much.

Her back was pushing into the steps and his weight was adding to it, but she welcomed the feeling. They made love on the stairs many times over the years. Quick, down and dirty sex when they were angry. Or other times, when they could not make it either to the couch or up the stairs before they had to have each other. They had been younger then. In this moment though, she felt like she was in her thirties again, and all it took was his smile to give her butterflies.

She did not want the night to end on the stairs, so she began to shift. She wanted to be in their bed, his scent surrounding her, as he made love to her. She broke their kiss and rested her head against his.

They were both out of breath. When she moved, she felt his beginning erection, and it made her weak. She had gone too long without feeling him inside her. She needed to get up those stairs.

“Mulder, bed, now,” was all she could get out as she panted and twisted out from under him. She looked at him as she freed herself. She kissed him again, stroking his face, before she turned and headed up the stairs.

“I was going to do that thing you liked as you held onto the railing, but we can head upstairs too, if you want ...” he said, beginning to follow her.

She stopped at the top of stairs at his words. Oh, the railing thing ... Jesus. She _did_ love that. Him with his mouth on her center, making her wet as she gripped the railing, the stairs adding height and leverage in a way no other place could.

But not tonight. He could replicate that in the bed instead. Make her wet and make her come. She was already halfway there. She looked back at him, seeing his smirk. Goddamn him. He knew how to get to her.

Two could play at that game, she thought. She reached for the bottom of her shirt, lifted it over her head, and threw it down to him. He caught it and threw it behind him. Her camisole was tossed next and he threw that behind him, too. His eyes stayed on her and she watched his chest rise and fall.

She stood there in a satin sapphire colored bra, the straps impossibly thin, with tiny white bows where they met the cups. She watched him grip the railing and put a hand on the wall. She brought her hands up to the front clasp, but he rushed up the stairs and stopped her.

“Not yet. And I’ll be the one to take that off of you,” he growled as he wrapped his arms around her and it made her shiver.

He turned her and pushed her toward their bedroom. She felt her back hit the door as he pushed her into it to get it open. Had to admire his thought process, as he used what he could when his arms were full and his concentration was elsewhere.

He had his mouth on her neck, kissing and licking his way around like he was following a beloved treasure map. He knew all the spots to hit to earn his reward of her moans and gasps.

Her legs hit the bed and she grabbed onto him before she fell back. His grip around her tightened and then she pushed him back. She reached to unbutton her pants, but he stopped her, with his hands and a shake of his head.

“I told you, **I** would be the one to take that off,” he said, his hands lightly stroking up her sides.

“You said the bra. You didn’t stipulate the other items of clothing,” she said, her hands resting on his chest.

“Oh, we’re going to get into semantics now? Is that what’s happening?” he asked her, his hands sliding to the straps of her bra, fingers stroking the bows, before he slipped them up to pull the strap down.

His mouth followed the strap and he kissed her shoulder, her upper arm, the inside of her elbow, before he slid the strap back up.

She looked at him with raised eyebrows, then tilted her head to the side. Silently asking him, what the hell he was doing.

“Not yet,” he said, smiling at her.

“Not yet to all of it? Or just the bra? I want to be clear here which items you will be removing as opposed to which ones I will be..” 

“Scully,” he said, his thumbs grazing across her skin as his hands landed on her waistband. “I will be taking _all_ your remaining items of clothing off, understood?”

His eyes and his words burned like the heat of a thousand suns. She took deep breaths as his fingers closed in on the button of her pants. She moved his hands and plopped down on the bed.

“You better start with the boots then,” she said sticking out her foot, as she leaned back on her hands.

He stared at her, a grin slowly creeping across his face, before he knelt down and grabbed her foot. He unzipped her boot and pulled it off, looking up at her as he did. She smiled as he tossed her shoe over his shoulder and it thudded to the ground.

He reached for the other one and stopped. He laughed and looked at her again. He grabbed her sock covered foot and rubbed her toes through it.

“Nice socks,” he said with a chuckle.

She raised her chin and her foot to look at what he meant. Oh, right. She almost forgot she put those on this morning. The black socks with silver UFO‘s all over them. She smiled as he continued to rub her foot and look at the socks she was wearing.

“Thanks. I got them as a gift from this guy I know,” she said, watching as he took the other shoe off, looked at both socks, and smiled.

“They are great socks. He sounds like a pretty great gift giver,” he said, rubbing both her feet.

“Oh. Well, let’s see, I’ve gotten- a keychain, a snowball cake with sparklers in it, books about leprechauns, mothmen, sprites, and other woodland creatures, a child’s medical kit, a shirt with an alien on it that says “They see me probin’, they hatin’” and these socks. So ... I guess he’s all right,” she said in a teasing tone.

“Wow ... with all those great gifts, I’m sure he didn’t give you just _one_ pair of socks. That doesn’t sound like him,” he said as he began to pull her socks off her feet.

She smiled, loving this act of seduction. It was so _them_. So geeky and adorable. She missed this so much.

“No, it wasn’t just the one pair. It was actually four pairs of socks. There were these, of course. Then bright purple ones with alien faces, yellow ones with Bigfoot..”

“Sasquatch,” he corrected her, running his hands up her legs over her pants.

“Right, Sasquatch,” she said, a smile dancing across her lips. He rested his chin on her knees, laying his hands over her thighs, locking his fingers. He looked up at her, his eyes twinkling.

“And the last pair? You said there were.. four?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She bit her lip trying to hold her smile back but she could not do it. “The last pair ... hmm. If I remember correctly, and I usually do, these last few days notwithstanding, they were green with a blue animal of some kind.”

“Some kind ...” he said, lifting his head and moving his hands to her waist, pulling her toward the edge of the bed.

“Mmm-hmm. A water monster. Oh ... the ... ah ... Loch Ness monster. That’s right,” she breathed out, as he stroked her back.

“You know it was supposed to be Big Blue, Scully,” his voice muffled against her stomach. He kissed her and lifted his head.

“Potato, potahto. Seen one lake monster you’ve seen them all,” she smiled as she stroked his hair.

“I’ll remember that the next time you tell me how different shaped pastas have different tastes,” his tongue tasting her skin.

She laughed, throwing her head back. Years ago, they had a heated conversation over the phone about different types of pasta, when he was sent to the store to buy some for dinner. A discussion regarding when spaghetti crossed over and became goulash. Was it dependent on the type of pasta used? She insisted it was spaghetti as long as the noodles were long and it was not mixed together, making it taste different. He argued it was all the same, no matter if it was penne or elbow or if it was mixed together. She finally told him to shut up, buy whatever the hell he wanted, and just come home. He walked in the door, threw the pasta down, turned off the pot of water, grabbed her and kissed her hard. She wound up on her back on the table and dinner that night had been very late.

She looked at him as they shared that memory and they both smiled. He reached for the button on her pants and she clenched her stomach muscles. He looked at her as he opened them and then pulled the zipper down. He bent his head to kiss her and he groaned.

“Oh my god. The underwear matches the bra. What are you trying to do to me?” he asked, dropping his head into her lap.

She laughed again. The underwear certainly did match. Blue satin, white edging, and a white bow in the middle. She knew his weakness for fancy underwear with bows. His face and exuberance when he would be seeing them eventually, definitely factored into her purchasing decision.

“As much as you may believe I wore them for you, that is not entirely the case,” she said, threading her fingers in his hair, his breath warming where she wanted him to be with no boundaries in the way.

He snorted and she tugged his hair. He raised his head and looked at her. “I had no plans beyond the day spent with you. I didn’t plan on _this_ , so don’t let your ego get too large,” she said, raising her eyebrow. “I like wearing this kind of underwear beneath my suits. Whether anyone sees them but me, it makes me feel sexy and powerful.”

He started pulling her pants down as she lifted, helping him out. Over her hips, down her thighs, then off her calves, before he tossed them behind him.

“I’m not sure you will fully appreciate what I’m about to say, and I may live to regret saying it, but you don’t need the fancy underwear to be sexy or powerful. All you have to do is show up, open your mouth, or raise that eyebrow,” he said as he started running his hands up her legs again, his hands on her bare skin.

She laughed and then stopped. As she felt his hands on her, she realized she had not shaved her legs in a couple of days. Usually she would not care and it was not as if she had always had freshly shaved legs when they were together. But, this was a coming back, almost like a getting to know each other again. The sexy underwear she chose to wear, which she could admit to herself, was a little for him, the socks, and she did not remember to shave her legs ... Such a rookie mistake.

“Mulder, wait,” she said, trying to stop him. He looked up, confusion showing on his face. He leaned back on his calves, and stared at her.

“I just ... it’s ... I haven’t shaved my legs recently and I know it shouldn’t matter, but I ... ” He silenced her as he ran his hands up the backs of her calves and tilted his head to the side. He went back down and up again. He stopped at her knees and looked at her.

“It’s not as bad as Wisconsin, so I think we’re okay,” he said smiling and winking, as he moved his hands up her thighs.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, a giggle bursting through. “It snowed for almost a week when we were there! Did you want me to go out and chance freezing to death? For a razor? And besides, I remember _you_ being quite scruffy as well.”

“Did I complain then? Did I say anything that would lead you to believe I was bothered by the hair ... anywhere on your body?” he asked as he began to crawl up the bed, forcing her onto her back.

“Whoa. “Anywhere” on my body? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked as she pushed against his chest, his heart pounding under his shirt, halting their movements.

“Scully, you could be hairy as a Sasquatch or bald as a mole rat, and I wouldn’t care. If you think hairy legs would ever deter me from the chance to be inside you, you really _don’t_ know me,” he said, pressing against her harder.

She laughed and then gasped as she leaned back onto the bed, his body covering her as he rested on his forearms. She moved her legs, opening herself to him. He settled between her legs, his worn denim softy rubbing against her bare legs, and they both moaned. He rocked into her and she gasped again.

“A Sasquatch? Really, Mulder?” she breathily asked, as she looped her arms around his neck.

“Huh ... here I thought you were going to find offense at the mole rat comment,” he said, lowering his head to kiss her neck.

“No. I’d much rather be bald than hairy,” she moaned as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. His head popped up and he looked in her eyes. She smiled and lifted an eyebrow.

“Is that right?” he asked, beginning to shift down her body.

He kissed between her breasts as he pushed them together, burying his face in between them. She laughed. When he did not take her bra off, she tapped his head. He looked up and she raised her eyebrows again.

“Not yet. I want to see something,” he let go of her breasts and kissed his way down her body. She closed her eyes, her hands roaming her body, the bed, his head. She began breathing hard as he got closer to where she wanted him.

His fingers slid under the waistband of her underwear and slipped them down a little at a time. Her body shook a little, anticipation building, knowing what he was going to find.

“Ah, Scully,” he said, finding her practically bare, before he slid her underwear all the way off.

The recent night in the hotel had been unexpected. She was not exactly prepared. She had made an appointment to get a bikini wax after that, just in case. Judging by his enthusiasm as he crawled back to her, he seemed to like it.

He kissed her thighs, slowly making his way back up to her center. He kissed and rubbed against her legs as he shifted around, his hands going under her ass to bring her closer to his face.

She throbbed, laying her feet on his back, wanting to feel his mouth on her. He did not keep her waiting long before he settled in and began kissing and licking her. Slow then fast. He sucked and licked just how she liked, knowing her so well, his eidetic memory a blessing.

He added his fingers and she cried out, gripping the sheets and pulling at her own hair. God, he was so good at that. So good at bringing her so close so fast. All these years later and still she was amazed at how quickly he could make her come.

“Mulder, oh god,” she cried out, her legs wrapped tight around his shoulders, her nails digging into her own thighs.

He sped up his fingers and sucked her clit into his mouth. She cried out, crashing over the edge, screaming his name. He kept lapping at her as she came down and relaxed her legs.

“Hmmm hmm,” she said, licking her lips. “Mulder, Jesus ... so good. So good.”

A final lick and he raised his head. He kissed his way back up her body. Stopping at her breasts again, sucking them through her bra, nibbling at her nipples. Back and forth, he laved them through the material.

She grabbed his ears and tugged. He raised his head and she let go of one ear and pointed to her mouth. He smiled and raised up, licking her chest, kissing her jaw before claiming her mouth.

She held onto his neck as his tongue rolled around in her mouth, stroking hers, as he ground his hips into hers. Still fully clothed, she felt the denim of his jeans against her bare skin. She shivered and as he rocked into her again, she felt a small orgasm roll through her.

“Jesus! Mulder, get your clothes off. I need you inside me,” she said, breaking their kiss and panting as he rocked into her one more time.

He pulled back from her and she scrambled around on the bed. He stood at the edge of the bed, pushing his shirt up and off, throwing it over his shoulder. She knelt on the bed, reached over and scratched her nails down his chest as he breathed her name.

She stopped at his waistband and opened his buttons, unzipped the zipper, and opened his pants. Reaching inside his boxers, she stroked his length and caressed the head. He hummed and leaned into her. She heard him swallow and then he put his hand on hers.

She looked up at him. His eyes were wide and dark. She loved him like this, aroused and happy. He stopped her hand and she stared at him questioningly.

He swallowed again and he stepped back. He shook his head and he looked at his feet. Oh, he still had his shoes on too. She climbed off the bed and knelt on the floor, untying his shoes and loosening the laces. He stepped out of them as she stood up.

She pushed his pants down over his ass, his hips, and then down his legs. He lifted his feet one at a time, as she bent down and pulled them off. She took off his socks too and stood up again.

They stood there still covered in one way each. He pulled his boxers down, standing nude before her. He was hard and she felt her insides ache. She wanted him inside her, wanted to remember again how he felt.

She looked at the bed and he smiled. He laid down and she straddled him. She rested at his waist, her hands on his chest.

“Wisconsin was a long time ago,” she said, looking down at him. “So many things we’ve done, Mulder. Cases, people we’ve met, places we’ve been. It was always just us, right? There was no Reggie? It _was_ just us?”

She moved and slid down his length. They both sighed and then moaned. She waited and he put his hands on her waist. He ran them up her body, landing on the clasp of her bra, as she rose up then back down.

“Us, Scully. It’s always been you and me. Just us. No Reggie. You and me, then and now,” he breathed, popping open the clasp of her bra, and cupping her breasts.

“You and me,” she agreed, loving the feel of his hands on her breasts. He had built the anticipation perfectly. Her bra slid down her arms, before she threw it on the floor.

There had been no Reggie riding in the backseat. No Reggie in the crappy motels where they stayed. No Reggie sharing theories or worries over either of them. It was always just them. Her and him. Learning their way together. For twenty five years. Just them, never anyone else.

“The horned beast,” she breathed out, leaning down against his chest, her hips still moving.

He laughed, putting his hands on her thighs. “Ronnie Strickland.”

She laughed into his neck. “Arthur Dales. Florida.”

“Daryl Moots. Holman. Flying cows.”

“Flukemen.”

“Genies, an invisible man.”

They kept stating cases, times when they were on the road, just the two of them. Remembering places they had been, what they had done. They had never booked three flights, three hotel rooms. It was always them and no one else.

He flipped them and he began to drive into her. He whispered remembered moments of their lovemaking. In their old apartments, in hotel rooms, their office, running for their lives, the first time in this house, then every room in it as it had been christened. Against the wall, on the floor, bent over the couch, in the shower, the bathtub. His words created desire in her veins.

She whispered remembered conversations they had. Things they had said, words of love and hope, one in five billion, touchstones, trusting only the other.

They both cried out, reaching completion together. He fell upon her and they held tight to one another, satisfied their memories were their own. No one had wiped their minds. They knew it had always been them. Trusting each other with their lives, then their hearts, and then with everything.

They lay together after, both sleepy, but happy. He held her and breathed against her neck. She sighed her contentment as his lips grazed her ear.

“I miss you,” he whispered.

She froze. He knew she was awake. He was taking a chance, letting her know, taking another step.

“I miss you, too,” she whispered back, pulling his hand up and holding it in her own.

She felt him nod against her head. He tightened his hold on her and shifted his legs, wrapping one over hers. His feet grazed her leg, then he settled it down.

“Hairy legs and all,” he whispered.

She smiled and closed her eyes.

“I just wanted you to know, Scully. In case it wasn’t clear or I haven’t told you enough, I ... I love you. And I miss you,” he said, and she could hear the sleep in his voice, but the underlying sadness as well.

There it was, just as she knew it would be. Physical before the emotional. It seemed to loosen their tongues better than any alcohol ever could. Adrenaline, their worry over each other in the past, then the oxytocin from a hand grasp, hug, kiss, or sex worked like a truth serum. It loosened the lid to get to what was desired on the inside.

She lay there quietly. Letting his words sink in, allowing herself the luxury of just feeling them. She knew he did not expect her to say it back. Knew he was not waiting to hear her words, or holding it against her when she stayed quiet.

It was not that she did not love him. God, no. She loved him so much she ached. Being without him was like living with a piece of her heart missing. Every day she was living a half life.

She had left, been the one to force their hand. But it had been because of his obsession consuming him, everything around him, and then their relationship. He needed to make amends, she needed to accept them, they needed to forgive and then move forward together. No more half life.

His breathing evened out and she knew he was asleep. She let her body relax into him before she knew she would need to climb out of their warm bed and head to her lonely one. She would not stay, no, she could not stay. Not yet. They were so close, but not quite.

She felt his body jerk a little while later and knew it was safe to get up. He had entered into deep sleep. She slipped out of his arms and out of their bed. She looked at him as he slept. She ached to stay, to wake up with him, but she knew it would be wrong. Not yet.

She knelt beside the bed, staring at his face. Watching him breathe. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

She found her clothes and gathered them up along with her shoes. She tiptoed out the door and down the stairs. She found her shirts, got dressed, and grabbed her jacket and other items from where she dropped them earlier. She opened and closed the door. quietly. The porch stairs creaked as she walked down them, but she was safe. He would not follow her.

She drove away, tears in her eyes. She looked in the rear view mirror, expecting to see her heart on the porch, waving her back. She shook her head and stared ahead. So close. They were so close. She just needed to be patient.

 

~~~~~

 

Mulder woke a few hours later. He knew without reaching out, that she was gone. He knew she would leave, but it still hurt that she did. He rolled over and grabbed the pillow. _Her_ pillow. It smelled like her again and it would have to suffice until she came back. Back with no plans to ever leave again. He would see to it. To make sure she knew he would not make anymore careless mistakes. He did not want this life he was living without her anymore.

He could feel they were close. So close to getting back to where they needed to be. He just needed to remain patient. Patient and vigilant.

He got up, used the bathroom, and took a shower. He got dressed and begin to clean up his clothes from last night. He was searching for his shoes when he noticed it. His shoes had been set upright, paired together by the door. On top of each shoe, she had draped one of her UFO socks. He grinned, remembering how she always draped her socks over the tops of her shoes that same way in the past.

He used to tease her about it, how she planned ahead, right down to the socks. She always argued it meant she was better prepared than him and it would not hurt him to take a cue from her.

Well, he thought with a smile, as he left the shoes and the socks there for the time being, it seemed she was telling him something. The time had come for him to finally listen. Really listen. He would take his cue from her and be prepared. He was more than ready for where they were headed.  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> God, the happy Mulder and Scully are so fun to write. The banter that I know they wouid have, is a blast to work on. The angst has to be there too, of course. It would not be a true story without some kind of angst. 
> 
> They are almost there. So close to that scene in the church. They just need a push.


End file.
